GIFT  OF 


POLM5  OF  PATRIOTISM 


POLMS  OF  PATRIOTISM 


BY 

WILLIAM  HARTLEY  HOLCOMB 

(Author  of  Old  Mission  Rhymes) 


1918 

COMMERCIAL  PRINTING  HOUSE 
LOS  ANGELES,  CAL. 


COPYRIGHTED 

1918 
BY  WILLIAM  HARTLEY  HOLCOMB 


INDEX 

The  Boy  Scouts 13 

Rest  to  the  Hero 16 

Liberty    17 

Good-Bye  Mother 19 

Hold  On,  France 21 

My  Love  is  a  Soldier  Boy 23 

The  Spirit  of  1918 26 

"Sonny   Dear" 28 

The  Women  Knit 31 

The  Aegis  of  Our  Fathers 33 

Service  Flags 35 

At  the  Third  Shot 37 

Awake,  My  America 40 

Honor  the  Uniform 42 

The  Burying  Squad 43 

A  Proud  Mother 44 

"Tennessee"  45 

March  On,  March  On 49 

Gifts   51 

To  Kinsmen  On  The  Line 53 

My  Big  Pal,  "Al" 55 

Unidentified 60 

"Extra"   62 

Army  vs.  Navy 63 

A  Woman's  Reward 65 

Our  Navy  Review 67 

The   Immortals 70 

Courage   72 

Perseverence   73 

"Abe's"   Victory 74 

Our  Responsibility 76 

Discipline   78 

Remember  Me 79 

Allan  Beaumont...  .   80 


382781 


The  Boy  Scouts 

A  little  brown  army  invades  our  land, 

Encircles  about  us  on  every  hand, 

Besieges  our  cities  and  countryside, 

Yet,  wakens  our  hearts  with  the  deepest  pride. 

This  little  brown  army  of  clean  khaki  suits, 
Slouch  hats,  tight  breeches  and  high  legging  boots, 
Is  ever  patrolling  in  our  plain  sight, 
Yet,  always  this  army  gives  us  delight. 

It  captures  our  cities  and  holds  them  fast — 
Seizes  each  village  through  which  it  passed — 
Holds  us  for  ransom — the  most  dreaded  part, 
Yet,  we  pay  the  ransom  with  love  from  each  heart. 

This  little  brown  army  goes  through  our  streets, 
A  smile  and  a  nod  to  each  one  it  meets; 
Prepared  for  its  duty,  ready  to  fight, 
Yet,  this  army  draws  sword  only  for  Right. 

[  13  ] 


As  soldiers  wdre  quartered  in  ancient  Rome, 
This  little  brown  army  picks  out  each  home, 
And  stations  therein  a  brave  soldier  boy, 
Yet,  to  each  household  this  seems  to  bring  joy. 

And  this  army  conquered  without  one  shot, 
"Surrender!"  We  stood  transfixed  on  the  spot; 
It  ordered:    "Go  on  about  your  affairs," 
Yet,  strange  that  this  army  helps  in  our  cares. 

This  little  brown  army,  know  you  its  name? 
Know  you  the  password  that  gave  it  great  fame? 
Know  you  the  spirit  that  slacks  not,  nor  pouts? 
"Service" — its  password;  its  name,  "The  Boy 
Scouts." 

Brave  little  army  that  swarms  through  our  land — 
Dear  little,  dutiful,  peace-loving  band; 
Touching  your  elbows  with  War's  gruesome  arm, 
Yet,  "doing  your  bit,"  without  an  alarm. 

Bright  little  army,  great  patriots  you — 

Ever  upholding  the  "Red,  White  and  Blue"; 

Steadfast  in  duty — examples  you  raise 

For  many  "grown-ups"  who  hold  back  for  praise. 

Grand  little  army,  accepting  your  drill, 
Perchance  the  place  of  some  brother  to  fill 

[  14  ] 


On  that  firing  line  in  far  distant  France, 

If  Fate  should  decree  that  you  take  this  chance. 

Fine  little  army,  at  work  and  in  play, 
Remembering  to  do  some  good  thing  each  day ; 
How  noble,  unselfish  and  kindly  your  aims 
Compared  with  some  "grown-ups'  "  much  vaunted 
claims. 

Little  brown  army  we  feel  quite  secure, 
Knowing  your  watchful  eyes  pry  very  sure 
Into  all  corners  where  enemies  hide, 
Or  death-dealing  traitors  slyly  abide. 

Best  little  army  this  world  ever  had, 
Seeking  out  good  and  disapproving  the  bad, 
Each  day  that  passes  brings  greater  renown — 
To  the  sturdy  "Boy  Scouts"  army  of  brown. 


Rest  To  the  Hero 

Fallen  in  battle,  bravest  and  best — 
Death's  gentle  sleep  has  lulled  you  to  rest; 
Closed  are  your  eyes  to  the  world-wide  strife, 
That  seeks  its  victim  in  each  man's  life; 
Shut  are  your  ears  to  the  dreadful  roar 
Of  battle  furies  that  round  us  pour; 
Gone  are  your  visions — yet,  one  remains — 
"He  who  gives  up  his  life  for  us— GAINS." 

Come  bury  him  'neath  the  tall  flag  pole, 
Where  the  colors  wave  bright  and  true, 

Red  for  his  courage,  White  for  his  soul — 
For  his  faith  the  Heaven-born  Blue. 

First  in  your  country's  cause,  you  would  be — 
Fighting,  as  you  had  fought,  to  be  free; 
Faithful  in  civil  life,  you  gave  all — 
Donning  your  uniform,  at  the  call; 
Weighed  not  the  sacrifice,  you  had  made, 
Thought  not  of  home  or  friends — just  obeyed 
God  give  our  Nation  men  just  like  he, 
That  we  may  win  our  cause — LIBERTY. 

Come  bury  him  'neath  the  tall  flag  pole, 
Where  the  colors  wave  bright  and  true, 

Red  for  his  courage,  White  for  his  soul — 
For  his  faith  the  Heaven-born  Blue. 

[  16  ] 


Liberty 

Said  Patrick  Henry's  inspired  breath: 
"Give  me  Liberty,  or  give  me  death." 
And  ages  down  through  conquering  years, 
Those  potent  words  will  smite  the  fears 
Of  Patriots  in  slave-bound  lands, 
And  give  them  urge  to  break  the  bands ; 
To  loose  the  shackles  that  have  pressed 
With  burdens  on  the  sad  distressed; 
To  water  with  their  blood  the  sod 
In  holy  cause,  before  just  God. 

"The  battle,  sir,  not  to  the  strong, 
But  to  the  vigilant,"  was  his  song. 
Go  bravely  on — there's  no  retreat — 
Submission  now  means  base  defeat; 
Invincible  to  any  force 
We  stand,  committed  to  our  course ; 
A  just  God  doth  o'er  all  preside; 
Success  will  swell  on  rising  tide, 
And  break  the  Tyrant's  cruel  power; 
Peace  will  be  born  in  that  same  hour. 


"Peace,  peace — there  is  no  peace,"  his  cry; 
A  fire  lights  up  each  loyal  eye; 
No  peace  till  war  has  wrecked  the  might 
Of  him  who  would  the  World  affright. 
Peace-loving  France  and  Albion's  sons, 
Now  face  the  gale,  and  man  the  guns — 
And  beat  the  chains  the  Huns  have  forged, 
And  stay  the  beast  with  blood  engorged; 
Shall  we  bask  idly  in  the  light? 
May  God  forbid — on  with  the  fight. 

uls  life  so  dear  and  peace  so  sweet?" 
He  asked;  "That  we  should  humbly  meet 
The  purchase  price  in  slavery's  chains?" 

"No,"  we  reply;  "Nor  count  the  pains 
Resistance  means  to  this  great  foe — 
The  sea  of  misery  and  woe, 
That  war  must  inevitably  cause; 
Be  free — or  death — we  cannot  pause." 
While  clash  of  arms  their  horrors  bring, 
Our  song  of  Liberty  we  will  sing. 


Good-Bye,  Mother 

A  Recruit's  Letter 

'Good-bye,  Mother,  we  are  leaving; 

All  aboard  and  feeling  fine; 
While  the  anchor's  being  lifted, 

I  am  writing  you  this  line. 
Say  "Good-bye"  to  brother  Billy, 

And  kiss  sister  Lou  for  me; 
How  I'd  love  once  more  to  see  you 

'Fore  this  ship  puts  out  to  sea. 

And  say,  Mother,  you  won't  worry? 

Sure  you  won't — you  must  feel  glad 
That  your  boy's  a  great  big  soldier 

Who  last  night  was  but  a  lad. 
And  say,  Mother,  write  real  often 

All  about  our  friends  so  dear — 
For  I  reckon  I'll  get  lonesome 

Thinking  of  you  over  here. 

And  say,  Mother,  you  tell  Laura 
That  "I'll  be  as  safe  as  pie"; 

I'll  be  back  and  get  my  darling 
'Fore  the  end  of  next  July. 

For  we're  out  to  lick  the  Kaiser, 

[  19  ] 


And  we'll  do  it,  you  hear  me — 
Just  as  soon  as  we  can  reach  him 
It's  a  case  of  one,  two,  three. 

Good-bye,  Mother,  now  don't  worry; 

Dry  your  eyes  and  look  real  bright — 
For  we  soldier  boys  are  cheerful 

Who  have  really  got  to  fight. 
And  it  makes  us  all  more  happy 

If  our  dear  ones,  too,  are  brave; 
Then,  you  know,  we  all  must  sometime 

Look  into  the  open  grave. 

And,  dear  Mother,  which  is  better 

When  we  hear  God's  final  call, 
To  be  heaping  up  mere  riches 

Or  to  save  our  Country's  fall? 
I  for  one  prefer  to  suffer, 

If  there's  suffering  to  be, 
Holding  up  our  starry  banner 

That  our  Country  may  be  free. 

Now  good-bye,  the  ship  is  moving, 

I  must  close  this,  and  away, 
So  the  tug-boat's  mate  can  mail  it 

When  they  cut  loose  down  the  bay ; 
Good-bye,  Mother,  now  be  happy — 

Burn  the  luck — excuse  this  blot — 
Guess  the  ocean's  splashing  over 

Try'n  to  wet  up  all  I've  got." 

[  20  ] 


Hold  On,  France 

We  are  coming,  France,  yes,  coming; 

We  are  coming  millions  strong; 
Hold  the  line  a  little  longer — 

You  will  hear  our  battle  song. 

We  are  coming  from  the  cities — 
From  our  busy  marts  of  trade; 

We  are  coming  from  the  country, 

Where  our  blood  and  brawn  are  made, 

From  the  Eastland — from  the  Westland- 
North  and  South — we  all  unite, 

And  our  men  by  teeming  thousands 
Hasten  forward  to  the  fight. 

When  we  heard  your  cry  of  anguish — 
Heard  the  call  of  Freedom's  cause — 

Not  one  moment  did  we  tarry, 
Nor  one  moment  will  we  pause, 

Until  all  our  manly  millions, 
Or  enough  are  on  the  way 

[  21  ] 


To  hurl  back  the  Tyrant's  hirelings, 
And  help  France  to  win  the  day. 

Listen,  France,  and  you  will  hear  them— 
Steady  tramp  of  marching  feet; 

Noble  men,  and  strong  with  courage, 
Who  have  never  known  defeat. 

Look  up,  France,  and  you  will  see  them, 
Lithe  in  limb  and  keen  of  eye — 

Not  one  blemish  to  the  profile 
As  their  serried  ranks  go  by. 

And  we  give  them,  freely  give  them, 
Greatest  gift  the  world  has  known, 

That  your  freedom,  and  our  freedom 
Never  shall  be  overthrown. 

Courage,  France,  we  know  your  brave 
ones, 

Glorious  Marne,  and  bold  Verdun, 
Valor  spots  on  our  World's  pages 

Which  are  not  forgotten  soon; 

And  we're  sending  you  these  millions, 
With  upspringing,  gladsome  pride, 

That  our  loved  ones,  with  your  loved 

ones, 
Will  be  fighting  side  by  side. 

[  22  ] 


My  Love  Is  a  Soldier  Boy 

My  Love  is  a  soldier  laddie; 

Handsome  boy,  so  tall  and  straight; 
Dressed  in  closely-fitting  khaki 

No  one  else  can  look  so  great; 
And  he  loves  me — yes,  he  loves  me — 

And  I  love  him  as  my  life; 
How  it  hurts  to  have  him  drilling 

For  a  part  in  this  war  strife. 

But  he  tells  me,  "there's  no  danger," 

"Two  per  cent,"  I  think  he  said, 
Of  the  brave  boys  who  are  fighting 

That  get  numbered  'mongst  the  dead; 
And  he  says,  "I'm  out  for  glory; 

I  will  make  you  proud  of  me — 
I'm  a  private  now,  but  some  day 

Soon,  a  Captain  I  will  be." 

'When  we  all  come  homeward  marching, 

Flags  a-flying,  victory  won, 
And  the  folks  are  all  hurrahing 

And  each  mother  hugs  her  son, 
[  23  ] 


And  you  see  me  as  a  leader, 
Toasted  by  the  best  in  town — 

Then  I'll  pick  you  from  amongst  them — 
Mine  for  life,  and  settle  down." 

"We  will  have  a  little  cottage, 

Rose  embowered  with  gravel'd  walks, 
And  a  shady  little  arbor 

Where  we'll  sit  and  have  our  talks ; 
And  I'll  tell  you  of  the  battles 

Where  we  fought  and  won  much  fame, 
Of  that  day,  mayhaps,  the  Orders 

Mentioned  me  outright  by  name." 

"And  the  flight  of  years  so  happy — 

Still  will  find  us  happy,  too, 
For  you'll  share  with  me  the  glories 

Of  the  battles  I've  gone  through; 
And  perhaps  about  our  fireside 

Little  ones  will  come  and  play, 
And  they'll  listen  to  the  stories 

'Daddy'  tells  of  that  great  day." 

Ah,  if  this  could  happen  truly 
And  he  need  not  take  the  chance 

Of  that  "two  per  cent"  of  lost  ones 
On  those  warring  fields  of  France, 

[  24  ] 


I  would  be  the  happiest  mortal 
That  kind  God  has  ever  made : 

Is  there  no  way  but  through  sorrow 
That  old  Earth's  sad  debts  are  paid? 

There  now,  "Buck  up,"  says  my  soldier; 

"Right  about"  and  "Dress"  the  line; 
"Forward,  March"  ;  I'll  show  him,  women 

Don't  all  need  to  fret  and  whine; 
That  we  give  up  for  our  country 

All  we  have,  and  keep  dry  eyes ; 
If  the  roll  call  finds  them  absent — 

Then — why,  that's  our  sacrifice. 


[25  ] 


The  Spirit  of  1918 

Those  days  in  Seventeen  Seventy-six, 

And  then,  in  Eighteen  Sixty-one; 
Again,  when  Cuban  patriots 

Announced  that  Spanish  rule  was  done — 
Were  stirring  days  and  warsome  days — 

Were  days  when  heroes  heard  the  call — 
But  fighting  Germany  in  France, 

For  downright  Spirit,  beats  them  all. 

We  love  that  wounded  fifing  corps 

That  typifies  proud  Seventy-six, 
And  Lincoln's  Gettysburg  address 

Reunion  in  our  land  depicts; 
While  Dewey  at  Manila  Bay, 

And  "Teddy"  charging  San  Juan  Hill, 
Portray  the  Spirit  of  Ninety-eight, 

Which  gave  that  day  its  proper  thrill. 

But  all  the  Spirit  of  those  times 

Boiled  down  and  crystallized  in  one 

Could  not  begin  to  duplicate 

The  "grit"  with  which  we'll  face  the  Hun: 
[  26  ] 


And  all  the  money,  ships  and  guns, 
And  all  the  brave  and  manly  men, 

In  all  the  wars  we've  ever  fought, 
We  now  can  multiply  by  ten. 

And  like  past  wars  of  our  free  land, 

No  selfish  purpose  underlies; 
The  Spirit  bids  us  on  to  save, 

Not  lust  of  gain  or  grand  emprise. 
Our  aim  is  righteous,  cause  is  just; 

We  champion  Liberty  and  Right; 
No  Tyrant  calls  us  to  the  sword, 

We,  one  and  all,  resolve  to  fight. 

The  Spirit  moves  this  avalanche; 

This  incensed  Nation  goes  to  meet 
An  Autocrat,  who  drives  his  slaves 

To  put  the  World  beneath  his  feet. 
The  Spirit  moves,  we  follow  on 

Undaunted  by  the  slightest  doubt; 
Across  the  battlefields  to  come 

We  hear  today  the  Victory  shout. 


[  27  ] 


"Sonny,  Dear" 

Three  months   have   gone,   my  Sonny, 

Dear- 
Three  dismal  months  of  dread  and  fear — 
Since  that  eventful  gala  day 
When  my  brave  soldier  marched  away. 
I  hear  again  the  people's  cheers — 
Cheers  rising  from  a  sea  of  tears; 
I  hear  again  the  martial  strain 
Of  music,  echoing  forth  my  pain; 
I  feel  again  your  loving  arm — 
Your  kiss,  those  lips — so  fresh  and  warm; 
My  ears  still  catch  your  stifled  sigh — 
You  were  too  big  and  brave  to  cry; 
And  then,  the  troop  train  rolled  away, 
And  Life  took  on  its  hue  of  gray. 

Three  months  have  gone,  and  somewhere, 

Dear, 

"Somewhere  in  France,"  'tis  printed  here, 
You,  whom  I  nestled  at  my  breast, 
And  with  soft  croonings  put  to  rest; 
You,  whom  I  cradled  at  my  knee 

[  28  ] 


And  gently  nursed  through  infancy — 
Heart  of  my  heart — a  twain  of  one, 
Flesh  of  my  flesh — my  only  son — 
This  paper  says,  "Undaunted  held 
The  line,  the  Germans  hotly  shelled; 
And  gave  them  back  a  hundred-fold 
In  pay  for  wickedness  untold;" 
My  boy,  who  at  my  apron  grew, 
Has  kept  our  high  traditions  true. 

"Somewhere  in  France" :    Ah,  that 

"Somewhere" : 
If  I  were  only  nearer  there, 
To  comfort  you  if  you  were  ill — 
A  Mother  once,  is  Mother  still; 
And  somehow  never  grasps  the  plan 
Of  years  that  changes  "boy"  to  "man." 
While  praises  of  you  give  me  joy, 
Somehow,  I'd  rather  have  my  boy — 
My  boy,  with  curly  head  at  play, 
Playing  the  soldier  he'd  be  some  day — 
Than  winning  Glory  now  in  France, 

'Midst  gas  and  shell  and  Life's  one 

chance; 

Somehow,  I'd  love  him  just  the  same 
Without  the  Glory  and  the  Fame. 
[  29  ] 


Three  months  in  France:   Ah,  Sonny, 

Dear, 
If  three  months  more  would  bring  you 

here; 

Our  arms  unconquered — Peace  at  last — 
A  Peace  to  bind  the  whole  world  fast; 
That  not  again  shall  mother's  heart 
Break,  as  she  sees  her  son  depart; 
A  Peace  that  makes  all  Nations  free, 
That  saves  for  us  our  Liberty. 
And  Sonny,  Dear,  'tis  hard  to  say, 
Somehow,  if  Peace  comes  not  this  way, 
And  you  must  fight  on  to  the  end, 
Then  I  to  Fate  will  humbly  bend; 
Upheld,  to  know  my  son  died  brave — 
A  worthy  son,  in  an  honored  grave. 


[  30  ] 


The  Women  Knit 

From  the  early  days  of  Lexington, 

Where  our  forefathers  fought  the  fight, 
Behind  stone  walls  for  Liberty's  cause 

And  championed  forever  the  Right — 

Through  those  other  days  of  Eighteen 
Twelve, 

When  we  fought  our  right  of  the  sea, 
And  then,  through  our  own  long  Civil  war 

Which  held  that  the  slaves  should  go  free, 
The  men  went  to  war,  the  women  at  home 

Were  busy  at  knitting  them  things, 

And  they  put  them  in  with  each  knitted 
stitch, 

Their  love  and  the  courage  it  brings. 
And  today  they  knit  while  soldiers  train* 

To  fight  overseas  for  our  land, 
And  they  knit  in  the  Love  that  makes  men 
brave 

With  a  magic  dexterous  hand. 
And  history  says  'twas  ever  thus, 

As  that  is  the  way  of  the  world, 

[  31   ] 


For  women  to  knit  and  men  to  fight 

The  legions  against  them  hurled. 
Those  warm  woolen  socks  and  knitted  scarf 

That  come  to  him  over  the  sea, 
Bring  with  them  a  flood  of  tender  love 

And  rechristen  fond  memory; 
They  baptize  anew  his  high  design 

To  win  for  his  flag  there  unfurled, 
For  women  must  knit,  and  men  must  fight 

For  that  is  the  way  of  the  world. 


[  32  ] 


The  Aegis  of  Our  Fathers 

Stain  not  the  glory  of  our  Father's  time — 
Their  blood  cries  out  from  ground  made  once 

sublime, 

By  patriots  whose  breasts  burned  with  true  fire, 
Who  played  life's  glorious   song  on   Freedom's 

lyre: 

In  vain  they  fought,  they  bled  indeed  in  vain 
If  we  refuse  to  bear  this  weight  and  pain — 
Nor  drive  the  hideous  beast  back  to  his  lair 
To  languish  in  confusion  and  despair. 
In  vain  they  crossed  the  strange  and  boisterous 

sea 

To  found  a  land  for  all  who  would  be  free, 
If  we  lack  valor  now  to  lead  the  fight 
And  make  secure  for  all  their  great  birth-right. 

We  scorn  to  be  mere  slaves,  we  will  be  free — 
Nor  follow  dictates  made  beyond  the  sea, 
By  tyrant  king,  nor  his  accursed  train; 
Nor  wear  a  gaudy  dress  to  hide  the  chain 
That  Slavery  deigns  to  don  as  pleasing  mask — • 
Mere  ensigns  of  a  Depot's  heavy  task. 
[  33  ] 


Beneath  the  sacred  banners  of  the  past 
We  now  enlist  and  give  the  die  its  cast. 
With  every  method  known  to  human  power 
We  now  resolve  to  end  this  wicked  hour; 
United  zeal  and  fortitude  we  give 
That  our  forefather's  memories  may  live. 

If  we  perform  our  part,  a  gracious  God, 

Who  did  protect  our  pious  father's  sod, 

Will  still  be  mindful  of  the  strength  they  gave, 

And  bare  his  arm  for  us,  to  bless  and  save. 

Direct  our  councils,  God,  while  we  outfling 

The  flag  of  Freedom,  and  its  paeans  sing; 

Approve  our  measures  that  this  land  you  blessed 

May  true  asylum  be  for  all  oppressed; 

That  bright  and  strong  our  Nation's  light  may 

glow 

To  guide  all  peoples  as  they  onward  go, 
Until  at  last  a  peaceful  World  shall  be 
Protected  by  our  goddess — Liberty. 


[  34  ] 


Service  Flags 

The  sordid  roll  of  business  wheels 

Grind  on  the  dirty  streets, 
Unmindful  of  our  drafted  sons 

Out  on  the  deep,  in  fleets; 
Old  gay  Broadway  keeps  up  its  pace 

From  dark-time  until  light, 
Unthinking  of  the  soldier  boys 

Who  hold  the  trench  at  night. 
The  careless  come,  the  reckless  go 

Unhallowed  on  their  way, 
Unheeding  of  the  wounded  ones 

Or  Death's  toll  of  each  day; 
But,  down  the  street  at  a  doorway  drear, 

There  hangs  a  strip  of  red, 
With  its  center  white,  and  one  blue  star 

Like  azure  from  overhead; 
And  further  down  is  another  strip 

With  two  stars  shining  clear, 
While  a  third  with  three  on  its  white  field 

Hangs  in  a  window  near; 
And  we  know  that  out  of  the  world  of 
men, 

[  35  ] 


The  wise  and  thoughtless  gay, 
Six  strong  true  men  have  heard  Freedom's 
call 

And  bravely  marched  away. 
And  we  know  three  homes  on  that  same 
street 

Where  happiness  used  to  be, 
Now  places  keep  for  three  vacant  chairs, 

Here  one,  there  two,  there  three; 
And  we  know  three  homes  where  anxious 

fear 

Await  the  coming  morn, 
When  street  boys  call  out  the  battle  news 

Night's  wireless  wings  have  borne. 
Then  doff  your  hat  to  the  Service  Flags, 

You  man  of  careless  mien — 
A  nobler  scroll  on  Honor's  Roll 

This  world  has  never  seen; 
For  first  in  duty,  first  in  war, 

Their  valor  will  not  cease, 
And  when  they  come  marching  home 
again, 

They  will  be  the  first  in  Peace. 


[  36  ] 


At  the  Third  Shot 

The  Cyprus  was  a  stately  ship, 

Built  on  the  river  Clyde, 
And  many  a  cargo  did  she  bring 

From  France  to  the  other  side; 
And  many  a  Master  trod  her  deck 

And  called  her  his  own  pride. 

The  Cyprus  was  a  speedy  ship 
And  raced  the  waters  through, 

And  many  a  load  of  precious  freight 
Was  handled  by  her  crew; 

And  many  a  man,  and  wife  and  child 
Took  passage  'cross  the  blue. 

The  angry  winds  are  blowing  strong, 
The  waves  are  running  high, 

The  Cyprus  breasts  the  mighty  seas 
Beneath  a  wintry  sky; 

The  passage  ways  are  battened  down 
To  keep  the  good  folk  dry. 

The  daylight  wanes,  dark  evening  comes, 
The  winds  become  a  gale, 

[  37  ] 


The  lookout  dons  his  warmest  coat 
And  clings  upon  the  rail; 

And  peering  forth  in  the  icy  spume 
He  watches  for  a  sail. 

And  all  below  is  revelry, 

Unheeding  of  the  night, 
Or  dangers  lurking  in  the  deep 

Without  just  cause  or  right; 
Fond  parents  play  with  children  gay 

So  lovely  to  the  sight. 

When  loudly  sounds  a  cannon's  boom, 
A  scream  of  shrieking  shell 

Goes  wide  the  ship ;  a  hissing  plunge 
Is  all  that  one  can  tell; 

The  gathered  folk  in  startled  groups 
Await  in  breathless  spell. 

Again  the  booming  noise  resounds, 

Again  the  angry  screech; 
The  Captain  orders  "Full  ahead/' 

To  get  beyond  its  reach; 
The  saintly  folk  repeat  the  prayers 

Their  mothers  used  to  teach. 

A  moment  more,  and  then,  Oh,  God: 
A  sickening,  shivering  thud — 

[  38  ] 


A  deaf'ning  crash,  a  blinding  flash — 
An  ocean  stained  with  blood; 

And  women's  souls,  and  children's  souls, 
Go  out  on  the  flying  scud. 

Oh,  Pity:  how  idle  is  that  word 
When  heard  by  cruel  Hun; 

For  laughter  runs  through  his  bloodless 

veins, 
At  fearful  slaughter  done; 

And  only  mermaids  sadly  wail 
At  rising  of  the  sun. 


[  39  ] 


Awake,  My  America 

Awake  men,  America  calls  for  her  strong  ones, 

Great  heroes  in  making,  courageous  and  bold; 
The  World's  future  freedom  depends  on  her 
brave  sons 

To  rise  as  avengers,  like  true  Knights  of  old. 
Make  haste,   for  your  brothers  in  arms   are  in 
battle, 

And  know  not  the  reason  of  your  long  delay; 
Sleep  not  in  your  folds  like  dumb,  senseless  cattle, 

But  gird  on  your  armor  and  march  swift  away. 

Across  the  sad  world  torn  by  conflict  and  anguish 
Dependent  on  bounties  bestowed  by  your  hand, 
Where  millions  bereft  in  dire  urgency  languish 
All  eyes  are  expectantly  turned  to  your  land. 
Their  millions  outworn  by  the  cannon's  fierce 

shelling, 
Are  straining  their  ears  for  the  sound  of  the 

feet 

Of  oncoming  legions,  their  faith  has  been  telling 
Would  join  with  their  strength  in  the  Kaiser's 
defeat. 

[  40  ] 


The  riches  and  ease  that  your  land  has  enjoyed 

For  one  hundred  years  in  this  home  of  the  free, 
Has  lulled  you  to  think  that  by  peace  means 

employed 
Fair  Justice  and  Right  would  be  born  o'er  the 

sea : 
But  wake,  men,  nor  tarry,  the  peace  plan  is 

truthless, 

Already  has  Victory  crowned  the  advance 
Of  vast  German  armies  defiant  and  ruthless, 
Their  east  line  in  Russia,  their  west  line  in 
France. 

Then  haste  ye,  arise,  for  the  bugles  are  calling, 
The  bond  tie  of  Liberty  rests  on  your  swords; 
List  not  to  the  lure  of  Disloyals  appalling, 
They  cumber  the  earth  with  their  treacherous 

words : 
Awake,  for  America  now  is  in  danger, 

Strike  soon,  lest  your  efforts  will  prove  them 

too  late, 
And  Freedom  to  your  land  will  hence  be  a 

stranger, 
And  slavery  forever  your  loved  ones'  sad  fate. 


[  41  ] 


Honor  the  Uniform 

Honor  a  soldier's  uniform, 

Be  it  khaki  or  be  it  blue, 
For  it  is  a  badge  of  Honor; 

Give  Honor,  then,  its  due. 
Hold  not  aloof  the  welcome  hand 

From  the  wearer  who  does  his  part, 
Show  forth  your  duty  to  our  land — 

A  duty  of  the  heart. 

Wherever  you  see  a  uniform, 

Be  it  khaki  or  be  it  blue, 
Show  it  some  act  of  kindness — 

It  is  fighting  for  you. 
A  smile,  a  nod,  a  little  gift 

Is  a  very  small  thing  to  pay 
The  wearer  of  that  uniform, 

Who  fights  for  you  today. 

Salute  your  country's  uniform, 

Be  it  khaki  or  be  it  blue, 
Behold,  it  stands  for  Freedom, 

Freedom  for  yours  and  you; 
Between  you  and  the  Teuton  hordes 

These  wearers  now  bar  the  way, 
Defending  your  home  with  their 
swords — 

They  fight  for  you  today. 

[  42  ] 


The  Burying  Squad 

Come  with  me,  Soldiers,  gently  tread  the  hallowed 

ground, 

Lest  we  irreverently  profane  the  spot 
Where  all  that's  mortal  lies  beneath  this  hurried 

mound, 

Of  they,  who  victims  fell  of  flame  and  shot. 
Our  duty  tenderly  to  place  within  the  grave 
The  day's  dread  list  of  dying  heroes  brave. 

'Twas  piteous   sad  to  lay  these  youthful   forms 

away; 

To  think  Ambition  burned  once  in  each  breast; 
That  these  once  stalwart  sons,  now  mere 

recumbent  clay, 

Some  loving  mother  one  time  fondly  pressed; 
To  know  that  all  in  life  on  which  man's  mind  is 

bent 
Was  garnered  up  and  in  one  moment  spent. 

Perchance  tomorrow?     When?     Have  we  the 

right  to  ask? 

Another  crew  will  form  the  burying  squad — 
And  we,  who  now  perform  this  gruesome  task, 
Our  turn  may  come  to  go  beneath  the  sod. 
Here's  trust,  that  they  of  us,  like  we  of  these  will 

tell— 
"They  fought  the  fight,  and  did  their  duty  well." 

[  43  ] 


A  Proud  Mother 

A  more  splendid,  striking  or  graceful  lad 

Can  be  found  in  the  wide  world  over, 
Than  my  handsome  boy — my  navyman, 
"Thad"— 

Who  has  taken  to  sea  like  a  rover. 
Just  watch  how  sturdy  and  faithful  he  stands, 

Awaiting  his  call  for  some  duty; 
His  wind-beaten  face,  and  brown  sun-burned 
hands 

Are  for  Freedom's  work — not  for  beauty. 

Of  all  in  our  home  he  was  first  for  fight 

When  peril  encompassed  our  Nation; 
He  took  up  the  sword  to  uphold  the  right, 

And  will  never  retreat  from  his  station. 
I  have  no  fear — I  am  proud  of  my  boy, 

Who  grew  by  my  side  with  his  prattle — 
I  know  he  will  bring  his  mother  true  joy 

When  he  wins  his  first  glorious  battle. 


[44] 


"Tennessee" 

For  he  was  a  jolly  sailor  lad, 
And  he  came  from  Tennessee, 

Where  much  tall  timber  may  be  had 
Almost  as  tall  as  he. 

And  he  was  as  brave  a  sailor  boy 
As  lives  in  the  wide  world  o'er; 

Although  he  had  been  his  Mother's  joy 
And  had  heard  no  cannon's  roar. 

When  he  enlisted  one  autumn  morn, 
His  tall  form  seen  from  the  rear, 

Provoked  the  landsmen  to  laughing  scorn 
He  looked  so  gaunt  and  queer. 

Since  six  long  months  had  sped  them  by 
With  food  and  sea  discipline, 

Then  he  was  a  match  for  anyone, 
Be  he  fat,  or  tall  or  thin. 

While  he  sailed  like  a  sailor  bold, 

On  land  he  took  his  fling 
With  the  gay,  until  night  grew  old — 

And  loudly  would  he  sing: 

[  45  ] 


Oh,  here's  to  the  rollicking  navy  boy, 
With  the  scent  of  the  fresh  salt  sea, 
With  his  sunlit  face  and  frollicking  pace, 

And  a  starboard  list  to  the  lea; 
"You  may  trust  this  boy  with  your 

country's  flag — 
And  to  bed  and  never  fear — 
For  he'll  lick  the  enemy  into  a  rag, 
Then  say,  'Where  do  we  go  from 
here?'" 

And  he  was  in  many_a  fight — 
For  he  sailed  the  fiery  main — 

Where  swift  torpedoes  prove  their 

might, 
With  wreckage,  blood  and  pain. 

Like  some  keen  hound  fast  on  its  prey, 

Our  sailor  boy  sailed  on; 
He  counted  lost  that  wretched  day, 

With  no  scrap  or  battle  won. 

Undaunted?  Yea,  with  eager  glance, 
He  viewed  the  storm-swept  sea — 

This  clear-eyed  son  of  a  timber  lance 
Who  came  from  Tennessee. 

And  then  anon  he'd  sing  his  song, 
To  cheer  his  wearied  mates, 

[  46  ] 


And  they  the  chorus  would  prolong 
With  a  noise  to  tempt  the  Fates. 

"You  may  trust  this  boy  with  your 

country's  flag — 
And  to  bed  and  never  fear — 
For  he'll  lick  the  enemy  into  a  rag, 
And  say,  'Where  do  we  go  from 
here?"' 

One  night  while  the  wind  blew  a  gale, 
And  seas  were  lashing  mad, 

An  enemy  shell  below  the  rail 
Caused  death  and  havoc  sad. 

She  settled  slowly  to  her  bed 

In  deep  Atlantic's  breast, 
About  her  floated  the  live  and  dead, 

On  the  billow's  heaving  crest. 

Then  above  the  roar  of  wreck  and  gale, 

Came  the  Tennessee  sailor's  cheer: 
"Say,  mates,  keep  your  eyes  peeled  for  a 

sail — 
Where  do  we  go  from  here?" 

Alas,  the  crew  of  this  brave  ship, 
And  the  sailor  tall  and  straight, 

Next  morn  at  Heaven's  golden  slip 
Sailed  in  through  the  pearly  gate. 

[  47  ] 


And  doubt  not  that  the  angels  missed 
The  voice  of  that  sailor  clear: 

'Say,  mates,  when  we  get  through  with 

this, 
Where  do  we  go  from  here?" 


t  48  ] 


March  On,  March  On 

March  on,  march  on,  my  countrymen, 

Sheathe  not  your  valiant  blade — 
This  day  you  fight  for  Liberty — 

Man's  liberty — God  made. 
Already  hath  the  enemy 

Profaned  each  sacred  right; 
March  on,  march  on,  my  countrymen, 

And  crush  his  wolfish  might. 

March  on,  march  on,  my  countrymen, 

March  on  beyond  the  Rhine — 
And  teach  the  woman-slaying  Hun 

This  stream  is  not  divine; 
Avenge  brave  Belgium's  fated  wrongs, 

With  ringing  clang  of  steel; 
March  on,  march  on,  my  countrymen, 

Make  horse  and  rider  reel. 

March  on,  march  on,  my  countrymen, 
March  on  beyond  the  Rhine — 

The  ruffian  now  is  parcelling  out 
The  World  within  his  line; 

[  49  ] 


Your  children,  wives  and  native  land 

He  covets  in  this  hour; 
March  on,  march  on,  my  countrymen, 

And  stay  his  ruthless  power. 

March  on,  march  on,  my  countrymen, 

March  on  beyond  the  Rhine — 
Lest  ye  be  ruled  by  Teuton  tongue 

With  claim  of  "Right  Divine." 
Fight  for  your  women  you  would  save — 

Your  children  you  would  guard; 
March  on,  march  on,  my  countrymen, 

And  strike  the  Tyrant  hard. 

March  on,  march  on,  my  countrymen, 
March  on  beyond  the  Rhine — 

For  on  this  field  you  peril  all 
Your  happiness  and  mine; 

'Midst  splintering  shell  on  wavering  line- 
Hear,  hear,  our  ringing  breath — 

March  on,  march  on,  my  countrymen, 
To  Victory,  or  Death. 


Gifts 

I  still  have  the  ring,  Annie,  dear — 

The  ring  you  gave  unto  me 
From  your  own  sweet  hand,  Annie,  dear, 

'Ere  I  came  across  the  sea; 
Each  day,  many  times,  Annie,  dear, 

I  kiss  this  circlet  of  gold — 
A  kiss  meant  for  you,  Annie,  dear, 

But  multiplied  one  thousand  fold. 

I  still  have  the  book,  Annie,  dear, 

The  testament  bound  in  red; 
I  read  it  each  night,  Annie,  dear, 

Before  the  camp  signal  "To  bed"; 
I  read  in  this  book,  Annie,  dear, 

The  sweetest  story  e'er  told; 
How  I  prize  these  gifts,  Annie,  dear — 

This  book,  and  the  ring  of  gold. 

I  still  have  the  kit,  Annie,  dear — 
The  kit  your  kind  hands  prepared — 

Its  buttons  and  thread,  Annie,  dear, 
Are  by  all  my  company  shared; 

[  51  ] 


And  this  woolen  scarf,  Annie,  dear, 
Impels  me  to  feel  quite  rich, 

For  the  millions  of  love,  Annie,  dear, 
You  knitted  in  with  each  stitch. 

And  I  love  you  most,  Annie,  dear — 

Most  of  all  this  wide,  wide  world; 
It  is  love  for  you,  Annie,  dear, 

That  I  fight  for  for  our  flag  unfurled; 
To  save  you,  my  sweet  Annie,  dear, 

From  dire  fate  should  we  lose  this 

strife — 
I  will  fight  to  the  end,  Annie,  dear, 

And  willingly  give  my  life. 


r  52  j 


To  Kinsmen  On  the  Line 

All  hail,  my  valiant  Kinsmen, 

My  Kinsmen  on  the  line; 
The  blood  of  our  brave  ancestry 

Exalts  your  veins,  and  mine. 
The  pride  of  Family  fealty 

Goes  welling  through  my  heart, 
To  know  my  gallant  Kinsmen 

Have  Glory  for  their  part. 

At  Lexington  and  Bunker  Hill 

Our  family  won  its  name 
As  Champions  of  Liberty, 

And  met  undying  fame; 
At  Chancellorsville  and  Gettysburg, 

Descendants  in  their  line, 
Though  wide  apart  in  "blue"  and 
"gray," 

Yet,  made  our  Honor  shine. 

All  honor,  valiant  Kinsmen, 

Your  faithful  patriot  hand 
Takes  up  the  sword  in  Freedom's 
cause, 

[  53  ] 


To  save  your  native  land; 
Were  I  befitted  for  the  strife, 

Your  danger  would  be  mine — 
My  ringing  steel  would  guard  your 
steel, 

My  blood  would  mix  with  thine. 

My  pride,  most  valorous  Kinsmen, 

Flows  through  my  blood  again — 
That  you  will  keep  traditions  true, 

Our  name  without  a  stain; 
Like  our  forefathers,  you  will  be 

Foremost  in  loyal  cause — 
And  in  the  thickest  of  the  fight 

Uphold  God's  righteous  laws. 


My  Big  Pal, "All" 

Knew  you  my  Pal?    My  lifelong  Pal? 

He  that  was  so  straight  and  tall? 
He  called  me  ujim,"  I  called  him  "Al"— 

And  I  was  the  envy  of  all. 

Our  friendship  was  like  man  and  wife — 
Together  we  played  as  mere  boys; 

Knew  nothing  of  warfare  or  strife — 
Just  town-folk  with  all  our  small  joys. 

Then  came  this  world  call  for  more  men 
To  beat  back  the  ravening  Hun — 

And  we  were  both  drafted,  and  then — 
Our  real  work  of  life  had  begun. 

'Al's"  Mother,  God  bless  her,  was  sad, 
When  we  drafted  men  came  away; 

An  orphan  I,  yet  folks  felt  bad 
When  I  left  my  home  on  that  day. 

And  think  of  the  luck  that  was  mine, 
To  go  to  the  same  camp  with  "Al," 

For  it  made  the  dull  moments  shine 
To  be  near  this  good-natured  Pal. 

[  55  ] 


And  luck  again  followed  my  track 
As  the  big  ship  sped  out  to  sea — 

To  know,  that  as  I  looked  back, 

"Old  Al"  stood  there  looking  with  me. 

And  bless  his  great  blubbering  heart, 
A  tear  stole  from  out  his  warm  eye — 

Then  quick  to  uphold  the  brave  part, 
He  laughingly  said,  "I  won't  cry." 

For  that  was  "Al's"  way  all  the  time, 
So  manly,  courageous  and  brave — 

He  poked  fun  at  things  most  sublime 
To  keep  us  from  being  too  grave. 

But  don't  think  his  whole  life  a  jest, 
For  he  had  his  sober  times,  too — 

When  "Mother,"  whom  he  loved  the  best, 
Came  stealing  on  memories  true. 

No  girl  had  a  more  tender  heart, 
To  save  it  I  think  he  grew  rough; 

A  queer  kind  of  protective  art 

That  makes  sensitive  natures  tough. 

For  me,  why  bless  his  great  soul, 

He'd  not  let  me  suffer  a  thing — 
Would  have  taken  my  name  on  the  Roll, 
If  he'd  thought  my  exemption  'twould 
bring. 

[  56  ] 


And  out  on  the  front  firing  line, 

He  trimmed  up  our  dugout  like  home, 

With  pictures  of  actresses  fine 

And  a  motto,  "Where  does  my  boy 
roam?" 

And  the  boys  from  along  that  trench 
Would  gather  in  there  every  day, 

And  leave  for  a  time  the  bad  stench 
Of  "No-Man's  land"  over  the  way. 

And  there  would  be  laughter  and  song, 
For  "Al"  was  the  life  of  the  camp — 

While  old  Fritz's  guns  boomed  along, 
And  his  glum  watch  kept  up  their 
tramp. 

Quick  wit,  a  big  body  and  mind, 
Rough  mannered,  but  good  as  pure 

gold; 

"Old  Al"  was  the  best  of  his  kind— 
The  camp  rang  with  stories  he  told. 

The  officers  knew  he  would  fight, 
For  oft'  in  the  thick  of  the  shot, 

They  had  to  hold  back  his  great  might 
Lest  he  would  charge  rashly  the  spot. 

At  night  time  when  stars  were  out  clear, 
I  always  felt  safe  if  "Old  Al" 

Was  holding  the  list'ning  post  near — 
No  one  seemed  so  shrewd  as  my  Pal. 

[  57  ] 


One  night  we  were  doing  our  stunt, 
Not  heeding  the  shell's  screaming 

storm ; 
And  "AT  said:  "Wish  Mother  could 

see  this  front, 
And  me  in  my  new  uniform." 

"She'd  worry  at  all  this  bad  mud, 

And  hunt  up  a  broom  for  a  sweep," 
And  he  laughed,  then  he  thought  of  the 

blood, 

And  the  scenes  that  would  make  her 
weep. 

"Can't  be  did,"  said  he,  "Not  just  yet— 

Our  mothers  can't  come  over  here, 
But  when  this  war's  over,  you  bet, 
I'm  for  home  with  my  uniform  'dear'.' 

And  he  laughed  at  the  seeming  jest 
Of  his  uniform  being  "dear," 

And  I  joined  in  with  the  rest, 

Not  thinking  the  end  was  so  near. 

When  came  there  a  blinding  hot  glare, 
The  horror  no  words  can  portray — 

A  ball  of  fire  swirled  through  the  air, 
And  made  night  a  lurid  bright  day. 

[  58  ] 


I  fell  at  the  first,  'neath  the  wall, 

Then  slowly  came  back  to  the  world; 

Poor  "Al,"  who  was  so  big  and  tall, 
Caught  the  full  force  of  that  which 
was  hurled. 

We  pulled  out  his  huge,  bulky  weight 
From  debris  the  missile  had  thrown; 

He  whispered:  "I'll  be  all  right,  Mate— 
Don't  jump  if  I  let  out  a  groan." 

Poor  "Al,"  he  had  got  his  death  stroke; 

We  carried  him  down  to  the  base, 
But  still  he  would  crack  off  a  joke 

About  some  hearse-ambulance  race. 

A  few  days  he  lay  wan  with  pain — 
The  surgeons  had  come  to  perform; 

Said  he:  "I'll  see  Mother  again, 
But  it  won't  be  in  uniform." 

And  we  buried  him  in  a  mound, 
With  ten  others  killed  on  that  day; 

The  firing  squad  let  off  its  round, 

And  we  all  turned  and  marched  away. 

So  that  was  the  end  of  my  Pal, 

His  end  here  on  earth,  I  should  write, 

For  I  bet  big,  good-natured  "Al" 
Is  joking  the  angels  tonight. 

[  59  ] 


Unidentified 

Only  a  locket  of  tarnished  gold, 

With  tiny  picture,  faded  and  old, 

Of  kindly  woman  with  care-worn  face, 

Where  marching  years  had  left  their  sad  trace, 

Only  a  cross  that  the  Priest  had  blessed, 
Hung  with  the  locket  upon  his  breast, 
By  a  narrow  bit  of  ribbon  red — 
Remains  to  identify  the  dead. 

Found  where  the  contest  had  been  the  worst, 
Blown  to  atoms  as  some  big  shell  burst — 
One  of  a  thousand  lost  on  that  day — 
None  have  returned  to  tell  of  the  way. 

Some  in  war  prisons  may  time  await 
For  fair  exchange  to  decide  their  fate; 
The  rest  are  named,  except  this  one; 
Who  knows  the  picture — will  name  the  son. 

Out  in  the  world  some  mother  stands 
Shading  her  worn  eyes  with  her  hand — 
Gazing  in  space,  as  if  by  chance 
To  catch  a  glimpse  of  her  boy  in  France. 

[  60  ] 


"Missing" — the  words  she  read  are  clear; 
Not  dead,  but  missing,  brings  Hope  near; 
And  Hope  says :    uLet  the  home  fires  burn," 
To  greet  my  boy  on  his  return. 

Earth  to  earth  we  commit  this  brave, 
To  all  the  Honors  of  a  grave — 
The  locket  with  its  ribbon  band 
We  give  into  the  Chaplain's  hand. 

Once  more  we  look  on  that  dear  face 
Of  "Mother"  the  locket  holds  in  place; 
That  Heaven  will  give  his  brave  soul  rest, 
This  cross  assures — that  the  Priest  had  blessed. 

Not  on  this  earth  will  he  be  known, 
But  there,  before  the  Heavenly  throne, 
Mother  and  son  will  joyfully  meet — 
God  joins  his  own  at  the  Mercy  Seat. 

Who  was  this  man?    What  was  his  name?    * 
A  soldier  who  won  deathless  fame — 
One  whom  History  will  with  pride 
Write  down  as  UNIDENTIFIED. 


[  61   ] 


"Extra" 

"Extra!    Extra!"     A  raucous  cry 
Of  shouting  newsboys  that  speed  by; 
Oh,  how  my  heart  trembles  within 
At  sound  of  this  discordant  din. 

"Extra!    War  Extra — Latest  News; 

"Journal"  or  "Call"— which  will  you  choose?" 
I  falter  with  a  haunting  dread — 
His  name  may  be  on  the  list  of  dead. 

"Extra — Extra — Big  German  Drive; 
Ten  Thousand  Prisoners  Taken  Alive;" 
How  dare  I  read,  perhaps  his  name 
Is  entered  there  on  the  Roll  of  Fame. 

"Extra— U.  S.  Boys  on  the  Line;" 
"Hurrah,"  say  some — "That's  doing  fine;" 
My  prayer  is  now:  "God  keep  him  well 
And  save  him  from  War's  torturing  Hell." 

"Extra — Sammies  in  Thickest  Fight;" 
Oh,  agony  of  day  and  night — 
The  dread  suspense,  lest  each  foot-fall 
Brings  news — "He  gave  his  country  all." 

[  62  ] 


Army  vs.  Navy 

Our  army  holds  our  lands — 

Our  navy  guards  the  sea — 
And  both  these  loyal  bands 

Now  fight  for  Liberty; 
A  finer  lot  of  boys, 

For  land  and  water,  too, 
Ne'er  heard  a  battle's  noise, 

Nor  sailed  the  briney  blue. 

Each  branch  fulfills  a  place 

Distinct  to  it  alone; 
They  enter  each  a  race 

And  vie  to  be  outshone; 
The  army  boys  believe 

Their  work  will  win  the  day- 
The  navy  lads  relieve 

Their  minds  another  way. 

A  rivalry  upsprings 

Between  these  branches  true, 
Concerning  many  things 

These  factions  have  to  do; 

[  63  ] 


The  army  loves  to  boast 
It  keeps  the  sailors  free 

By  fortressing  the  coast 
That  lies  beyond  the  sea. 

The  navy  lads  declare, 

With  accents  broad  and  rough; 
"You  give  us  time  to  spare? 

Where  do  you  get  that  stuff?" 
"You  fight  for  us,  'tis  true — 

To  this  we  all  agree — 
But  who  takes  care  of  you 
As  you  sail  across  the  sea?" 


[  64] 


A  Woman's  Reward 

The  Fates  decreed  I  cannot  fight 

With  gun  upon  the  line; 
Or,  in  the  active  throes  of  war 

Claim  Victory  as  mine; 
A  woman  I,  by  Nature's  mold 

Unfitted  for  the  fray; 
My  mission  only  seems  to  be 

To  work,  to  watch,  and  pray. 

To  watch,  to  work,  and  pray  that  Time 

Will  bring  him  back  to  me — 
Unscathed  from  out  that  "No-Man's 
Land," 

That  lies  beyond  the  sea ; 
To  work,  to  watch  and  pray  our  boys 

May  grandly  win  the  fight — 
And  thence,  forever,  will  this  world 

Be  ruled  by  conquering  Right. 

How  often  do  I  long  to  be 

A  stalwart,  forceful  man, 
Who  puts  his  shoulder  to  the  wheel 
And  pushes  all  he  can; 

[  65  ] 


Would  I  were  such,  a  thousand  things 

Of  valor  would  I  do — 
To  help  along  the  righteous  cause 

We  fight  beyond  the  blue. 

And  then,  methinks,  each  one  must  fill 

His  own  true  little  niche; 
Strong  men  to  man  the  heavy  guns, 

While  women  sit  and  stitch; 
And  when  the  final  die  is  cast 

We'll  find  on  Judgment  Day 
Those  women  merit  with  the  men 

Who  watch,  and  work,  and  pray. 


[  66  ] 


Our  Navy  Review 

Oh,  sing  us  a  song  of  our  Navy's  sons, 

Who  sail  o'er  the  wide  open  sea — 
And  sing  what  they  did  'mongst  the  bravest 
ones 

In  the  war  of  our  Liberty. 
Had  ever  a  ship  a  handsomer  crew? 

Nor  keener,  more  valiant  band — 
Than  these  boys  who  fight  for  the  Red, 
White  and  Blue, 

And  protect  our  God-favored  land. 

To  the  East  and  the  West  through  old 
Ocean's  length, 

Our  sea-bound  Republic  has  stood, 
For  all  time  a  towering  haven  of  strength, 

Inviting  the  World  if  it  would; 
And  ever  our  ships  since  Farragut's  time 

Have  sailed  o'er  the  blue  ocean's  crest, 
And  spread  wide  the  Hope  of  Freedom 
sublime 

To  the  down-trodden  and  oppressed. 

[  67  ] 


When  lo,  came  command  from  Arrogance 
wild, 

Forbidding  our  use  of  the  sea — 
America  challenged — man,  woman  and  child, 

Arose  for  our  loved  Liberty; 
And  streaming  through  ports  to  beat  of  the 
drum 

Like  unnumbered  drops  of  a  mist, 
From  country  and  cities  where  factories  hum 

Our  millions  of  workers  are  missed. 

"On,  forward  to  France,"  is  our  Nation's  cry; 

"Avenge  the  mad  Tyrant's  fierce  zeal — 
Hold  steady  our  glory-kissed  banners  on  high 

And  strike  for  our  brave  country's  weal ; 
And  give  us  at  once  a  thousand  big  ships 

To  carry  our  men  to  the  war, 
And  ten  thousand  guns  with  fire  spouting  lips 
To  answer  the  Kaiser's  afar. 

Then  forth  from  the  fields  and  the  cities' 
walls, 

Came  legions  to  give  of  their  blood, 
Dyed  red  with  the  courage  that  never  falls, 

No  matter  how  fearful  the  flood; 
And  thousands  untold  where  iron  masts  sway 

Over  steel  decks  and  parapet, 
Stand  bold  in  the  flames  of  the  cannon's  play, 

And  have  never  been  conquered  yet. 
[  68  ] 


Midst  wintry  winds  and  the  hurricane's 
wrath, 

Their  valor  undaunted  remains, 
Defending  our  ships  which  follow  the  path 

Where  the  Hun  lies  in  wait  for  his  gains; 
Through  starlight  and  moonlight  their 
batteries  keep 

Close  vigil  on  landside  and  wave; 
Our  countrymen  now  in  security  sleep, 

Protected  by  our  sailors  brave. 


The  Immortals 

We  see  them  now,  not  pale  in  silent  death — 
But  living,  brave,  resplendent  in  their  breath; 
Those  gallant  men  who  gave  their  lives  to  free 
The  slave-bound  lands  that  lie  beyond  the  sea. 
Great  courage  never  dies,  but  holds  its  prize 
Aloft,  to  tantalize  our  weaker  eyes — 
And  teach  the  value  of  unclouded  name 
To  all  who  seek  the  laurel  wreath  of  fame. 

Their  bodies  to  the  earth?    Yea,  but  their  souls, 
Indelibly  affixed  to  Memory's  rolls, 
Live  on  with  us,  and  through  all  future  years 
Will  our  hopes  inspire,  and  assuage  our  tears. 
Men  but  begin  to  live,  whose  lips  are  stilled 
While  doing  good  with  which  their  lives  were 

filled; 

Their  characters  are  molded  on  the  age — 
Their  breath  exhales  from  History's  written  page. 

Their  souls  live  on  with  us,  and  lift  us  higher — 
We  consecrate  their  names  with  our  heart's  fire; 
We  emulate  their  deeds  and  their  brave  end — 
To  be  like  them,  we  all  our  powers  unbend. 

[  70  ] 


To  live,  to  die,  to  dissipate  in  mists — 
Their  names  unmentioned  on  life's  coming  lists, 
Can  never  be  for  those  whose  spirits  feel 
The  impulse  to  uphold  their  country's  weal. 
Oh,  gallant  hearts,  who  give  your  ruddy  flow 

That  Tyranny  shall  feel  its  mortal  blow, 
And  drown  the  Kaiser's  minions  in  their  blood 
Who  drench  the  fields  of  France  with  crimson 

flood; 

Your  names  shall  live — your  Spirits  shall  endure 
And  all  time  keep  our  institutions  pure; 
Your  influence  like  fragrance  to  a  flower 
Shall  cling  to  men  until  their  dying  hour. 


Courage 

Hearts  may  be  breaking, 

And  we  not  know  it ; 
Some  pass  their  fellows 

With  a  pleasant  nod; 
Their's  the  real  Courage 

Who  do  not  show  it — 
Whose  souls  meanwhile 

Pass  under  the  rod. 

There  is  an  agony  of  deep  despair — 
Too  deep  for  outward  show  and  care; 
Where  sympathy  leads  out  in  vain 
To  reach  the  cause  of  another's  pain. 

There  may  be  sorrows  too  great  for  sighs, 

Where  tears  no  longer  fill  the  eyes — 

A  wave  of  the  hand,  a  nod  of  the  head, 

May  cover  the  sorrow  of  a  loved  one  dead. 


Perseverance 

Not  to  the  swift,  the  race,  nor  to  the  strong; 
But  to  the  one  who  slowly  plods  along; 
Who  perseveres  with  energy  each  day 
To  surmount  obstacles  that  bar  the  way. 

No  sudden  spurt,  the  gain — nor  vivid  track  of 

light- 
As  marks  a  meteor's  wandering  at  night; 
But  only  constant  effort  to  uplift 
And  hold  secure  some  cherished  noble  gift. 

For  prowess  comes  through  long  continued  zeal; 
Repeated  blows,  all  broken  ends  anneal; 
Persistent  effort  ever  wins  the  prize, 
Which  dangles  temptingly  before  our  eyes. 


[  73  ] 


"Abe's"  Victory 

Above  the  summer  landscape  of  the  World 
Two  Eagles  in  far  depths  of  scintillant  blue, 
Like  shimmering  cloudlets  almost  lost  to  view, 

On  cycling  pinions  round  the  vault  are  whirled; 

As  forest  leaves  by  upward  whirlwind  twirled 
They  wheel  and  dip  and  rise  to  heights  anew. 

Anon,  one,  tiring  of  so  great  a  height, 
This  dizzy  ruling  over  Infinite  space, 
Foregoes  the  laurels  of  such  majestic  race, 

And  earthward  slowly  wheels  his  forceful  flight; 

His  monstrous  wings  outstretched  reveal  their 

might, 
And  gleaming  talons  speak  no  gentle  grace. 

A  somber  shadow  falls  upon  the  Earth 

As  slow  he  wings  his  ominous  course  around; 
A  shadow  that  with  dire  calamities  abound; 
Where  all  before  shone  happiness  and  mirth 
Now  every  evil  known  to  demon  birth 

Runs  riot  where  this  shadow  meets  the  ground. 

[  74  ] 


Where  peaceful  homes  once  glorified  the  land, 
Stalks  War  and  Hate  a  ravaging  cause  to  gain; 
Their  wake,  a  tide  of  insupportable  pain, 

With  rapine,  wreck  and  ruin  on  every  hand; 

This  shadow  like  some  sad  funereal  band 
Gives  mourning  for  the  dead  on  Earth  and 
Main. 

Our  Eagle  still  at  coign  of  vantage  high 
Observes  the  desolation  wrought  below — 
Receives  the  call  to  stay  this  wanton  flow, 

And  straightway  leaves  his  eyrie  in  the  sky; 

His  whirring  pinions  toward  the  Earth  draw  nigh 
To  check  the  other's  ceaseless  spread  of  woe. 

The  welkin  echoes  loud  the  battle  cries, 

The  Earth  below  resounds  with  deaf'ning  ring 
The  shock  and  crash  of  shivering  bone  and  wing 

Of  this  most  frightful  conflict  of  the  skies; 

Now  prone  upon  the  Earth  black  Eagle  lies, 
Hurled  downward  like  some  helpless  fluttering 
thing. 

Aloft  on  rocky  crags  o'er  beetling  steep 

The  conquering  victor  prunes  his  tarnished 

dress ; 
Below,  where  havoc  wrought  a  desperate  stress, 

Exulting  Nations  their  thanksgivings  keep; 

The  Prussian  Eagle  sent  his  long  last  sleep — 
"Old  Abe"  pursues  all  Eagles  that  oppress. 

[  75  ] 


Our  Responsibility 

Whose  vassals  we?  Who  owns  this  land? 
The  time  is  nearing  close  at  hand 
When  we  are  slaves,  or  we  are  free — 
For  that  we  fight  for  liberty; 
Will  we  have  homes  to  call  our  own, 
Or  sit  in  wretchedness  and  moan 
O'er  houses  pillaged  and  destroyed 
By  cruel  Huns  with  carnage  cloyed? 

On  us  the  fate  must  now  depend 
Of  unborn  millions,   and  their  end 
No  human  efforts  then  can  save, 
Lest  we  resist  with  efforts  brave; 
The   ruthless,   unrelenting  foe 
Leaves  us  no  choice  but  war's  sad  woe; 
This  hour  goes  out  our  Heaven-borne 

cry— 
"Resolve  to  conquer  or  to  die." 

Our  own,  our  country's  honor  calls 
For  men  whose  courage  never  falls; 
Should  we  now  tamely  act  and  fail, 
Our  infamy  God  would  bewail; 

[  76  ] 


In  His  hand  Victory  will  lie — 
He  gives  where  noblest  spirits  try; 
To  us  the  World's  eyes  now  upraise — 
Then  wield  the  sword  and  win  its  praise. 

Prove  free-born  men  have  greater  worth 
Than  slavish  mercenaries  of  earth; 
More  wicked  are  their  arts  we  know — 
Yet,  we  repulse  each  cruel  blow; 
Their  cause  is  bad,  they  know  it  well — 
With  maddened  zeal  brewed  deep  in  Hell 
They  lull  their  consciences  to  sleep, 
Or  follow  blindly  like  dull  sheep. 

On  your  high  courage  rests  the  claim 
Of  refuge  from  the  cannon's  flame; 
Our  wives  and  children,  parents,  all 
Will  wear  the  chains  or  burial  pall, 
If  Heaven  crowns  not  our  efforts  now 
To  make  the  Teuton  lowly  bow; 
With  faith  and  firmness  our  brave  swords 
May  sound  the  knell  of  trampling  hordes. 

Be  ours  the  burden  to  redress 
The  wrongs  an  Empire  would  impress; 
To  prove  the  Freedom  we  uphold 
The  New  World  turns  upon  the  Old; 
With  ''Liberty"  our  song  sublime 
We  praise  the  earth — inspire  Time, 
Until  cold  slavery's  wretched  fields 
Will  warmly  give  of  fruitful  yields. 
[  77  ] 


Discipline 

Long  did  I  watch  from  yonder  signal  tower, 
Where  youth  keeps  vigil  o'er  life's  dreamy  hour, 
To  catch  one  gleam  from  realms  of  space  afar, 
Of  that  bright  harbinger — my  Fate's  own  star. 

All  through  the  sunlight  of  youth's  bright  day, 
When  men  appear  as  actors — Life,  the  play — 
I  scanned  the  waves  of  ocean  for  one  trace 
Of  that  fair  ship  which  comes  in  Fortune's  place. 

Hours  have  I  pondered  over  ancient  lore, 
To  measure  there  the  good  that  was  in  store; 
But  fruitless  thus  my  efforts  to  descry 
The  form  and  manner  of  my  destiny. 

One  day  there  came  unto  my  study  door 
A  little  thing — a   duty — nothing  more; 
It  seemed  so  weak  as  it  came  creeping  in, 
I  did  not  know  its  name  was  "Discipline." 

And  day  by  day  as  I  sought  far  and  wide 
The  light  of  some  great  star  my  steps  to  guide, 
This  weakling  sat  within  my  own  household, 
And  wove  a  web  about  me  of  pure  gold. 

When  I  awoke  from  idle  dreams  at  last, 
I  found  this  golden  thread  had  bound  me  fast; 
I  learned  that  Fate  gleams  not  from  out  the  sky, 
But  "Duty"  is  the  Star  of  Destiny. 

[  78  ] 


Remember  Me 

Remember,  Lord,  when  I  shall  come 
To  ask  thy  just  encomium, 

Or  suffer  judgment  at  thy  seat; 
That  I  have  each  his  rights  restored, 
And  thy  forgiveness  oft  implored; 

Thy  mercy  I  entreat. 

Remember,  Lord,  that  when  I  sin, 
It  comes  not  from  the  soul  within, 

Nor  from  an  unkind,  evil  heart; 
But  rather  from  a  carefree  mind, 
Which  all-forgetting  fails  to  find 

And  keep  the  better  part. 

Remember,  Lord,  I  here  await 
Upon  thy  word  most  Incarnate, 

And  hold  thy  light  as  sacred  truth ; 
Despise  not  then  my  soul's  appeal, 
But  let  my  years  of  mature  zeal 

Outweigh  the  flaws  of  youth. 


Allan  Beaumont 

The  concave  Heavens,  like  inverted  bowl 
Of  purest  crystal,  bends  o'er  Beaumont's  Knoll; 
Cemented  on  the  West  to  Earth's  far  verge, 
And  to  the  East,  where  land  and  ocean  merge; 
From  summit  of  this  knoll  o'erspread  with  blue 
The  eye  obtains  an  unobstructed  view 
Of  many  miles  of  undulating  land, 
Whose   park-like   aspects   pleasantly   expand; 
Revealing  level  meads  and  wooded  hills, 
Whose  simple  beauties  highest  Art  fulfills. 
Meandering  leisurely  through  meadow  soils 
The  modest  streams  unfold  in  sinuous  coils; 
Like  silver  ribbons  curved  in  graceful  lines 
They  flow  away  to  vision's  faint  confines. 

The  focus,  where  these  landscape  pleasures 

meet — 

This  sightly  knoll,  long  has  formed  the  seat 
Of  wealthy  Planter;  he,  whose  honored  days 
Upholds  the  pride  of  staid  Virginia's  ways; 
In  solemn  massiveness  rears   Beaumont  Hall, 
Ionic  columns  lend  their  grace  withal; 

[  80  ] 


O'er-crusted  with  a  stately  discipline 

These  rugged  walls  belie  the  peace  within; 

For  there  the  font  of  kindness  ever  plays, 

And  gentle  invitation  often  sways 

Some  welcome  visitor  to  cease  to  roam, 

But  there  find  substitute  for  home; 

And  where  the  guest  who  would  not  long  to  stay 

Amidst  this  warmth  of  hospitality. 

Yet,  not  as  mere  composite  pile  of  stone 
Was   Beaumont  Hall  through  nearby  country 

known ; 

Its  quiet  splendor  spoke  with  eloquence, 
Of  gentle  blood  and  courtly  influence, 
Reflecting  forth  a  halo  of  esteem 
For  all  who  hold  that  virtue  is  supreme. 
Its  ivy  walls  seem  crowned  with  intellect, 
Which  gives  each  stone  a  less  severe  aspect. 
And  hither  comes  aristocratic  blood — 
The  sturdy  root,  and  branch,  and  dainty  bud 
Of  that  great  tree  which  rules  the  human  mind 
Through  gracious  elegance  and  arts  refined; 
Here  gathers  every  well-born  denizen 
Of  this  fair  land  of  women  and  strong  men. 

The  history-making  men  of  our  great  race 
The  festal  boards  of  Beaumont  oft  did  grace, 
Till  social  prestige  makes  the  certain  boast 

[  81  ] 


That  Beaumont  is  the  beacon  on  life's  coast; 

Here  come  grave  diplomats  who  undermine 

And  reconstruct  whole  nations  while  they  dine ; 

Surrounding  all  is  that  refinement  rare, 

Consideration  and  unequalled  care, 

Which  marked  the  days  when  gentlemen  instilled 

Ennobling  thoughts — as  Chivalry  was  filled; 

And  ladies  cultivated  every  art, 

Which  their  distinguished  birth  could  them 

impart; 

And  all  illumined  were  by  that  soft  light 
That  springs  from  noble  purposes  of  right. 

Along  such  paths  of  harmony  replete 
Young  Allan  Beaumont  found  life  very  sweet; 
A  soft  contentment  shone  upon  his  face, 
Full  transcript  of  this  cheerful,  quiet  place, 
Where  first  he  breathed  the  sweetly-scented  air, 
And  waking,  found  the  World  to  be  most  fair. 
From  early  years,  according  to  God's  plan, 
Like  melting  tones  of  flute,  life  onward  ran — 
Perfecting  him  in  all  the  symmetry 
Which  filial  love  and  friendship  could  decree. 
While  conscious  of  the  power  of  his  own  name, 
He  yet  resolved  to  give  it  added  fame; 
To  claim  a  place  high  in  the  World's  renown, 
In  realms  of  genius  to  wear  the  princely  crown. 

[  82  ] 


Inheritor  of  name  and  large  estates, 
His  destiny  inspired  by  good  fates, 
In  future  expectations  bright  appeared 
The  Goddess  Fame  with  laurel  wreath  upreared; 
To  grace  the  many  attributes  of  worth 
Which  halo-like  hung  o'er  his  favored  earth, 
And  gave  to  Allan's  cultivated  brain 
The  soft  cloud  lights  expressed  by  Claude 
Lorraine. 

A  woman  nurtured  carefully  from  youth, 
Endowed  with  lovely  qualities  of  truth, 
Confided  her  sweet  nature  to  his  heart, 
And  of  his  love  became  the  greater  part; 
She  stimulated  with  her  soul  refined 
The  noble  impulses  of  his  young  mind. 

Through  loving  care  a  mother  did  exalt 
Her  perfect  child  above  their  common  fault — 
A  fault  which  many  noble  people  hold, 
And  which  cannot  be  remedied  with  gold; 
A  fault  which  genius  may  alone  adorn — 
The  fault,  alas,  of  being  lowly  born. 
Fair  Edith's  family  came  of  German  stock, 
And  while  their  intellect  would  feign  unlock 
The  doors  of  Beaumont  Hall,  to  let  them  pass — 
There  lay  that  gulf  'twixt  they  and  well-born 
class, 

[  83  ] 


The  gulf  of  gentle  birth  and  high  prestige, 
Across  which  Love  has  often  thrown  a  bridge, 
And  thus  invited  loved  intruder  in — 
Although  e'en  this  brings  censure  of  a  sin. 

Another  obstacle  in  time  arose 
To  bring  their  day  of  love-dreams  to  a  close; 
For  soon,  the  distant  mutterings  of  strife, 
Whose  sounds  had  not  before  reached  Beaumont 

life, 

Came  nearer  with  a  loud,  discordant  tongue, 
Awaking  bitter  thoughts  in  old  and  young. 
Through  strong  opinions  which  o'errule  the  heart 
A  friend  from  friend  will  erstwhile  stray  apart; 
And  Allan  gave  his  mind  to  Allies'  cause, 
While  she  he  loved  was  bound  by  German  laws; 
And  each  pursued  a  lone  and  saddened  way, 
She  to  her  Prussian  home,  and  he  to  armed  affray. 

With  cheerful  eyes  youth  doth  behold  the  band 
Of  Hope,  which  rainbow  like  o'er-spans  the  land. 
'Ere  Allan  parted  from  his  Edith  with  a  sigh, 
A  gleam  of  yearning  love  bedewed  his  eye; 
He  closed  his  loved  one's  form  unto  his  breast, 
And  while  her  cheek  to  his  was  fondly  pressed, 
He  murmured  soft:     uWe  part,  but  for  a  time, 
While  I  the  rungs  of  Fortune  quickly  climb; 
On  battlefields  where  shot  and  shell  doth  pour, 

[  84  ] 


Amidst  the  grim  realities  of  war, 
More  surely  than  by  other  paths  may  Fame 
Attach  herself  unto  my  youthful  name; 
In  war,  the  lowly  Page  becomes  a  Knight, 
It  matters  not  if  cause  be  wrong  or  right. 

"When  I  return  from  war,  and  shout  and  drum, 

Proclaim  that  I,  a  hero,  homeward  come, 

My  dream  will  be  to  have  you  for  my  bride, 

And  crowned  with  honor,  seat  you  by  my  side ; 

And  none  will  dare  a  finger  to  onlay, 

Or  to  our  wedding  give  their  rightful  uNay." 

When  I  return  a  star  of  first  degree, 

Whose  light  hath  set  my  own  loved  country  free, 

Then  we  will  take  command  at  Beaumont  Hall, 

And  rule  with  regal  splendor  over  all. 

The  greatest  minds  shall  gather  'round  our  board, 

And  pay  their  homage  to  my  wife  adored; 

'Till  then,  be  true,  and  ever  wait  for  me, 

And  I'll  be  true,  and  surely  come  to  thee." 

Then  to  his  loved  one  Allan  bid  adieu, 
Believing  his  young  dreams  would  still  prove  true; 
But  poison  seems  to  dwell  in  things  of  earth, 
Which  robs  achievement  of  its  cherished  worth, 
And  over  each  ambition  casts  a  spell 
That  lures  man's  feet  'neath  shades  of  asphodel. 

[  85  ] 


Man  trims  his  lamp  and  by  its  fitful  glare 
Attempts  the  fickle  moth  of  Fame  to  snare; 
Or  hotly  presses  Fortune  on  the  wing, 
To  yield  to  him  some  fondly  wished-for  thing; 
No  sooner  grasps  his  hand  the  longed-for  prize 
Than  unseen  obstacles  at  once  arise, 
And  by  their  ruthless  certainty  destroy 
The  pleasures  of  anticipated  joy. 

We  pluck  a  red-cheeked  apple  from  the  tree — 

Or  orange,  golden  with  the  sun's  degree; 

Or  lovely  rose  that  droops  its  crimson  head — 

Or  banded  bee  at  rest  on  fragrant  bed; 

Or  sip  we  nectar  in  a  lover's  charms- — 

Or  love  the  prattling  babe  in  parent's  arms — 

Or  seek  we  any  pleasure  to  attain, 

In  each  and  all  we  find  a  fatal  stain. 

A  worm  the  heart  of  apple  doth  devour; 

The  orange  turns  to  bitterness  and  sour; 

The  lovely  rose  conceals  a  jagged  thorn, 

While  hidden  dart  of  bee  is  not  foreborne; 

A  lover's  ecstasy  brings  sad  regret, 

And  parent's  hope  must  pay  stern  Nature's  debt. 

Proud  Allan's  family  name  brought  him  the  prize 
He  dearly  sought  for  to  appease  his  eyes — 
A  uniform  with  dazzling  bits  of  gold, 

[  86  ] 


Yet  he  was  truly  bravs  ami  'dashing  bold*  ':  y.\ 

He,  with  the  foreign  legion  bound  his  name, 

Whose  mad  exploits  won  them  lasting  fame. 

On  battlefields  of  overridden  France 

Our  Allan  charged  the  foe  with  sword  and  lance, 

And  drove  the  German  hordes  back  to  their  lines, 

Whene'er  they  ventured  from  their  own  confines. 

So  fierce  his  onslaughts,  and  so  bold  his  way, 

They  oft  relied  on  him  to  win  the  day — 

Until  the  foe  retreated  at  the  sight 

Of  Allan  Beaumont  leading  on  the  fight. 

One  day  a  trench  raid  of  excessive  force 
Brought  Edith's  brother  'cross  her  Allan's  course, 
And  there,  a  duel,  until  Allan  swooned, 
And  Edith's  brother  dropped  with  mortal  wound. 
On  furlough  home  this  brother  came  to  tell 
And  curse  her  Allan  with  the  curse  of  Hell; 
And  Edith's  heart  was  torn  with  sad  distress, 
While  she,  her  dying  brother's  hand  did  press — 
And  heard  her  family's  prayers  of  awful  hate 
They  pledged  to  pour  on  Allan's  dreaded  fate; 
And  then,  to  reach  the  climax  of  despair — 
'Twas  all  revealed  that  she  had  loved  him  there — 
At  Beaumont's  Knoll,  where  they  had  plighted 

troth — 

Her  tyrant  relatives  grew  fearful  wroth, 
[  87  ] 


And  threatened  her  with  cruel  vengeance  dire 
If  her  affections  did  not  thence  expire. 
Heart-broken,  with  full  share  in  Allan's  curse, 
She  left  her  home  to  be  a  Red  Cross  nurse; 
And  time  now  brought  her  to  the  English  base, 
Where  she  nursed  and  blessed  those  of  an  alien 
race. 

You  feign  would  guess  the  rest  of  this  sad  tale? 
From  Life's  true  aspect  we  but  lift  the  veil; 
How  Allan  meets  his  brave  young  death  at  last — 
His  final  hours  in  Edith's  sweet  arms  passed; 
How  one  more  name  is  placed  on  Honor's  Roll 
In  that  wide  hall  at  lovely  Beaumont  Knoll; 
How  Edith  gives  her  strength,  her  health  and  all 
To  nurse  the  wounded  soldiers  as  they  fall; 
Till  now,  these  two  both  lie  beneath  the  sod, 
Their  souls  entwined  forever  before  God. 


[  88  ] 


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